Mimi Lee is in over her head. There’s her new Los Angeles pet grooming shop to run, her matchmaking mother to thwart, her talking cat Marshmallow to tend to—oh, and the murder of a local breeder to solve…now if only Mimi hadn’t landed herself on top of the suspect list.
Mimi Lee hoped to give Los Angeles animal lovers something to talk about with her pet grooming shop, Hollywoof. She never imagined that the first cat she said hello to would talk back or be quite so, well, catty—especially about those disastrous dates Mimi’s mother keeps setting up.
When Marshmallow exposes local breeder Russ Nolan for mistreating Chihuahuas, Mimi steals some of her cat’s attitude to tell Russ off. The next day the police show up at Hollywoof. Russ has been found dead, and Mimi’s shouting match with him has secured her top billing as the main suspect.
Hoping to clear her name and save the pups Russ left behind, Mimi enlists help from her dreamy lawyer neighbor Josh. But even with Josh on board, it’ll take Mimi and Marshmallow a lot of sleuthing and more than a little sass to get back to the pet-grooming life—and off the murder scene.
Excerpt
I sprinted over to Hollywoof, where I saw a suited man with
his back to me. He stood peering through my shop window.
The stranger didn’t seem to have a pet with him. And not
one strand of fur decorated his dark gray jacket and slacks.
I jingled my keys to get his attention. “Excuse me, can I
help you?”
When he turned around, I saw a man about six feet tall with
sandy buzz-cut hair. He had hard features with a sharp nose and a square jaw.
His light blue eyes reminded me of ice cubes.
“Mimi Lee?” he said. He brushed his sport coat with a
subtle move of his hand, and I spied a badge at his waist.
“That’s me.” I scrunched my nose. “Is this about the dog
breeder?”
“You could say that.” His voice had an edge to it.
Marshmallow sat at my feet and bristled. “Don’t trust guys
who don’t own pets,” he said, as I opened the door to the shop.
I flipped on the lights and welcomed the officer in.
We sat in the waiting area on the pleather benches. I
thought Marshmallow might stay near me to provide emotional support, but he
strode over to his roost near the plateglass window. Figured.
I frowned at the cat, and the officer caught my look.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
He perched at the edge of his seat. “Here’s my card,” he
said, handing his info over.
“‘Detective
Brown,’” I read and started
trembling. “Homicide division?”
He tapped the shiny badge at his waist. “Yes, and I’m
investigating the death of Russ Nolan.”
“What?” I gasped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Marshmallow’s ears prick up.
Detective Brown’s cold eyes gazed into mine. “You were at
his house yesterday. A neighbor heard your argument.”
I nodded. I remembered the window slamming shut. “Russ
Nolan was mistreating those poor Chihuahuas.”
The detective made a noise in his throat, neither affirming
nor denying my claim.
I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands against the pleather. They
left a slight streak.
“The neighbor quoted you as saying, ‘You hurt those dogs,
and I’ll hurt you.’”
My jaw dropped. “But I didn’t kill him. I meant I’d report
his activities to the right agencies.”
Detective Brown straightened up and nodded. “Yes, that’s
how we found you so quickly. You filed a complaint with the local police.
Intake said you seemed miffed the department couldn’t help you more.”
Shifting in my seat, I said, “I felt annoyed about the
paperwork. It could take a long time to go through the red tape.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “So you took justice into your
own hands.”
I shook my head. “No, Detective, I didn’t.”
“Do you have an alibi for last night?”
I glanced at Marshmallow. “My cat was with
me . . .” If only he could talk to the detective as well. Use
his mind powers.
“I see.” Detective Brown gave me a knowing look. “I’m still
gathering evidence, but I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Detective. Er, have a good day.”
He got up and dusted off his sport coat. With one hard
push, he swung the shop door open and left.
I began pacing the floor. Was I a murder suspect? How had
this happened?
“Calm down,” Marshmallow said, his eyes following my
movements. “You’re making me dizzy.”
I halted and threw my hands up in the air. “You’re the
reason I got into this mess. I traipsed through his house because I was running
after you.”
I needed to call somebody. Who? Not my parents. They would
worry too much. Alice?
She’d be teaching class about now, but I hoped she’d pick
up. Her cell went straight to voice mail, so I dialed her classroom number.
After several rings, I got through. I didn’t let her speak
as I said, “Alice, I need—”
A shrill voice came down the line. “This is Principal
Hallis. You are disrupting this class. To whom am I speaking?”
My mouth opened and closed.
In a fainter voice, I heard the principal say, “Miss Lee,
no personal calls during classtime. I thought you’d be more professional.” The
line disconnected.
I slumped my shoulders, while Marshmallow licked at his
coat without a care in the world.
I pointed at him. “I’m taking you back to the shelter as
soon as I can.”
“You’ve got bigger fish to fry. Looks like you’re murder
suspect number one.”
He was right. I plunked down on the bench and put my head
in my hands.
Jennifer J. Chow grew up reading Garfield comics and adores creating sassy kit lit. She also writes the Winston Wong mysteries, which feature a regular meowing cat. Her other Asian American novels include Dragonfly Dreams (a Teen Vogue pick) and The 228 Legacy.
She’s involved in Crime Writers of Color, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime. Visit her online at jenniferjchow.com.
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